


Bella Gerant Alii

by mellitas



Series: Weep Not for the Past [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical Hetalia, M/M, Pining, References to Imperialism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellitas/pseuds/mellitas
Summary: He tried to no longer think of edelweiss in the rocky peaks of the Alps, clutched in the outstretched hands of a nation he knew all too well. He tried to no longer think of quiet nights spent with only mountain air surrounding him, a childhood unfettered by human expectations or demands or desires. He tried to keep busy.
Relationships: Austria & Spain (Hetalia), Austria/Spain (Hetalia), Austria/Switzerland (Hetalia)
Series: Weep Not for the Past [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666780
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Bella Gerant Alii

The first night had been the worst. In a lavishly-decorated bedchamber, alone save for his quiet, goading doubts and the figure next to him, seemingly lightyears away. This had been a landmark event in both of their histories, of course. Roderich hadn’t seen the man since that afternoon, but judging by the smell of rum that lingered over their newly-shared bed, he could surely come up with a few ideas. 

“Buenas noches,” Roderich murmured into the dark, heavy silence of the room. The words felt foreign on his tongue, the syllables too loose, too honeyed for a situation such as this. He heard them echo back to him from the vaulted ceilings, earned a soft, tired grunt of acknowledgement in reply. 

“Dulces sueños,” came an eventual reply, the Spaniard rolling over onto his side, dark brown eyes now trained on Roderich. “You learned Spanish? I’m honored,” Antonio’s words were almost-hesitant, carefully-chosen. Gently prodding, as if he was unsure of where the boundaries were in this small, fragile thing they had been forced into. He managed a wide smile, only half-caused by the liquor in his veins. 

“No, actually… A couple phrases, on a good day. That’s all.” Roderich shook his head, lips pursed into a fine line.

“Oh.” Antonio nodded, gave a soft, idle hum, his smile falling. “Of course.” Silence fell back over the room after that, Antonio’s breathing evening out, Roderich’s heartbeat slowing.

He shifted slightly under all the bedding. The sea of sheets were softer than any he had felt in his own home, almost-suffocating in their sheer numbers. They appeared finely-made, imported from some land across the ocean that Antonio had undoubtedly raided under false pretenses to bring such riches back. 

There were rumors about Antonio, of course, the same as there were rumors about Roderich. Others swore they could almost see the blood of Turks staining his own once-clean porcelain hands, and Roderich swore he could almost hear the cries of the Mayans between the syllables in Antonio’s slurred words. Painfully sober, Roderich fell into an uneasy sleep.

❖ ❖ ❖

The following days were long and tedious, and Roderich tried his best to keep busy. Through the slow march of time, through the slow march of his husband from battlefront to battlefront, raid to raid. The original homesickness gave way to a steady ache, a dullness that settled over his bones like the manteca colorá Antonio spread over his mollete at breakfast. Roderich no longer pined for the mountains as he once had, no longer pined for the teen he had left without so much as a goodbye, so much of a second glance. 

He no longer thought of edelweiss in the rocky peaks of the Alps, clutched in the outstretched hands of a nation he knew all too well. He no longer thought of quiet nights spent with only mountain air surrounding him, a childhood unfettered by human expectations or demands or desires. No, of course not, because that would be a waste of time, and Roderich _tried his best to keep busy_. 

It takes them months, but they learn each other. Antonio learns to look the other way when his _husband_ writes seemingly-endless letters back to the mountains with a certain individual in mind. Roderich learns to look the other way when Antonio returns after weeks without a word, drunk on the draught of victory, and also possibly gin. They strike up an unsteady balance, a teetering peace. 

Antonio grows more and more absent, off on expeditions or diplomatic trips, Roderich doesn’t entirely mind the peace and quiet. He has his own work, of course, although his is more concentrated in the courts, in the comings and goings of nobles and the craft of the written word. Work that he can, of course, conduct just as well within the many walls of his new residence. 

The house - if Austria could even call such a monstrosity of stone and glass such - was quiet. Antonio was not home often, not half as much as a husband should be, considering the man’s own disappointment upon hearing Roderich wasn’t interested in a relationship of the romantic sort. 

_“Marriage is a human construction, in the same way that the value of gold is. This is all smoke and mirrors, Capitano, this is all part of the dance.”_ Antonio had been particularly bellicose that evening. He had stormed off, then, into the arms of the night, or into those of some Spanish woman in the tavern he tended to frequent. Roderich didn’t much care which. In fact, he had half a mind to wish he could do the same the next time he returned home, perhaps not with a woman. It took him half an hour to remember this was his home, now. 

❖ ❖ ❖

This evening proved to be different. The Spaniard’s eyes were alight with the fire of triumph, the man high on the feeling of conquest. He hadn’t returned in a few months, _at least_ ; off to some foreign land he could hardly pronounce the name of. “ _It’s alright, cariño! As soon as we arrive, it’s given a new name, one of our creation. It becomes whatever we want it to be.”_

Antonio’s face - or what could be seen of it over the large chest he was lugging down the hall - lit up upon seeing Roderich. “I see I have a greeting party! Wonderful! I brought gifts. Many gifts. How was Barbados?” 

“I’m sure it’s the same _lovely_ rat’s nest it is all year round.” When Roderich finally glanced up from his book, it was to offer Antonio a graceful shrug. “I haven’t been out recently, not enough to see it for myself, in all its _glory_.”

Confusion marred the Spaniard’s face, and he finally set down the chest to focus on the conversation. He let the remarks slide off his back, like water on a duck. It was the first time he had been _home_ in _so long_ . This illusion of domesticity _couldn’t_ be ruined with a lovers’ spat over one of Portugal’s territories. “You were supposed to leave last week. What happened?”

“I wasn’t feeling well. I sent you a message about it, in fact. I assume it didn’t reach you? The ambassadors gave the Most _Serene_ House of Braganza my _regards_ , in my absence. ” 

Antonio offered a nod, the same he had given on the first night of their marriage, his smile quickly growing tighter. “I’m sure they did.” 

Time away allowed a man to grow lonely, to idolize, to forget the exact habits and mannerisms of his lover. It was why, Antonio thought, so many of the men on his ship carried bits and pieces of their wives with them on the rough waters. Sentiment, honor, spectacle. Nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this fic by listening to Après Moi by Regina Spektor on repeat, which I think says more about it than any description I could give. Sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, I impulse-posted this after having looked at it for too long. Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Check me out on [Tumblr](https://mellitas.tumblr.com) if you ever want to chat!


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